Guys, my sanity has been gradually unraveling. It has a lot to do with not sleeping for the past 17 months.

So I had a mental health day.

(Which means I spent the majority of the day with no kids.)

For you moms who haven’t had a childless day in 5 years, let me tell you what I did, so you can live vicariously through me.

First, I took a shower. No one interrupted. (I did have to break up a small fight between the big kids at the end, but who’s being picky?)

Next, I met my husband for lunch. No one tried to grab my plate and send it crashing to the floor. No one whined for bites of my food. No one interrupted our conversation. We actually sat in the bar area at a table with tall chairs, because we didn’t even need a highchair.

We ran an errand together, where we both got out of the car and walked right into the store. Neither of us stayed behind with whiny small people. We didn’t have to bring car seats or unstrap toddler seat-belts. We just got out of the car and walked in.

After Chris went back to work, things got really interesting.

I went swimsuit shopping.

Guys. I have no words for this experience. Is there anything more demoralizing to womankind?

OK, yes. I found out how to make it worse: I had a gift certificate to a store geared towards 15 year old girls who weigh 90 lbs. And I went there. For a swimsuit.

Just don’t EVER do that.

Apparently everything about me is wrong. Even my torso is too long. How can your torso be too long for stretchy Lycra? And half of me is one size and the other half is the next size up. Not the preferred halves. DRAT YOU, PEAR SHAPE!

I shook the dust off of my feet and went to the store beloved by all moms: Target.

It was still bad-ish, but manageable. And the lighting was more flattering, which helped a lot.

But, did you know Target only lets you take 6 items into the dressing room? I need way more than 6 tries to find a suit that covers all my important bits, without making me look 75 years old. And since it was the coldest day in the history of everything, I had about 5 layers on. After a few times of undressing and redressing, I was really tempted to wrap my coat around my almost naked, too-long torso to pick out the next suits to try.

Eventually I selected the least offensive option, and then I walked in the makeup aisles. Just because I could. No one grabbed the nail polishes. No one begged for Bonnie Bell (actually, do they still make that? I can’t keep up.) No one moaned about how bored they were.

I didn’t buy any makeup. It was enough to be able to look at my leisure. I did grab some “feminine products” that were on clearance, because this was my exciting day out.

After purchasing my swimsuit and girl stuff, I went to the in-store Starbucks (which we un-affectionatley call “Tarbucks.”) I ordered an awful Americano and sat at one of the 3 tables, reading Facebook and listening to other people’s kids have meltdowns. Because, you KNOW I wasn’t going to go home until I had to.

Finally my personal day came to a close and I drove home to my children.

And you know what? My babies are beautiful!!!

Phoebe is so sweet and smiley and adorably chubby. Enoch is hilarious with all of his cute antics. Leah is full of imagination and wonder. Isaiah is creative and constantly strategizing genius things to do.

Apparently yoga pants have broken the Internet again. The Christian part of it, anyway.

All of the defenses and rebuttals to the most recent “I don’t wear yoga pants,” blog have been far more interesting than the blog itself. On one side we have: “Women should cover up every single curve, because modest is hottest!” The other side is all: “The purity culture shames women into thinking it’s their job to protect men from lusting. So I have the right to wear whatever I want.” Both extremes are… extreme.

(And there are many who land in the middle, with really good points, so I’m not throwing their babies out with the bathwater.)

I 100% agree that it’s not a woman’s job to keep men from lusting. I mean, I’m pretty sure if we all wore burkas or mom-jeans, guys would still find a way to lust if they were set on it.

But swinging the pendulum the other way, like we think we should be able to show up at work in a bikini or go out to dinner in the nude or whatever, is missing the point too.

So if it’s not our job to “protect” men from their sin, why should we cover up some of our womanly assets?

The answer to that question is basically the same reason I never post naked pictures of my babies on social media. Am I trying to protect some pedophile from sinning? Absolutely not. I am protecting my babies, because no one has a right to look at them that way.

And I kind of feel the same about the whole yoga pants/modesty/purity culture debate, because I have a daughter that’s rocketing towards preteen.

I don’t think I’ve ever said the word “modesty” to her, and probably never will. Our conversations are more like, “Lady, you need to put some shorts under your 2-sizes-too-small dress, because everyone doesn’t need to see your panties.” Or, “Girly, that shirt hangs awkward. Either put a tank top underneath or pick something different.”

Why? Because l want to protect some dude from lusting? No. Because SHE is valuable and beautiful. And no lecherous eyes have a right to her.

Society tells my girl she is a sex object. I don’t care how enlightened and feministic we think we are, this message still rings out so strong to women. As she gets older, media is going to consistently yell in her face that the more skin she shows, the more desirable she is. I want to hand her something better.

She doesn’t have to be half naked to be gorgeous. She is beautiful in her track pants and a tee. Or her striped skirt paired with a flowered top. Or her plain school uniform.

Since when did dressing in micro-minis and mid-drift tops become women-empowering, anyway? Why are we so afraid to tell girls that they’re more than how sexy they can look?

I want my daughter to know that respecting herself is beautiful.

If that means I continue to encourage her toward something akin to “modesty,” I’m ok. Because she is too precious to be on open display.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the other freedom fighters of the 50’s and 60’s changed America. But it’s even closer to home for me.

Martin Luther King said:

“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.”

“We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.”

“I have a dream that… one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”

Dr. King’s life and words resonate with our family, because his ideology simply reiterates what Scripture has been telling us for thousands of years.

“After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,” Revelation 7:9

“So Peter opened his mouth and said: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Acts 10:34-35

“For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and all were made to drink of one Spirit.” 1 Corinthians 12:12-13

The equality of all races is not a politically correct trend. It is a basic human issue. It is a spiritual value.

For our family, transracial adoption is a way we are able to tangibly live Dr. King’s dream of walking the earth as brothers.

Can I be blunt? We have no desire to whitewash our Black kids. We don’t want to save them from Blackness. They do not need to be rescued by a white family. That type of ignorance makes me sick to my stomach.

Instead, we are honored to have our children’s heritage mingled with our own. Our ideals are reshaped as we welcome their culture into our family landscape. They don’t conform to us. We all conform to each other. Isn’t that what true brotherhood is about?

On this Martin Luther King Day, I am grateful for the legacy and sacrifice of Dr. King. I’m grateful for the words he put around an uncompromisable value. I’m grateful that he helped lead the fight for brotherhood in America. And my heart is full with the brotherhood that we can live in our own home.

I don’t believe the fight is over, but I’m glad someone was brave enough to help it begin.

You know how people say, “There is no such thing as a dumb question”? I guess that’s true. But man, my kids ask some annoying ones.

OK, I’m not the most patient mom ever, so maybe they get under my skin too easy. But, like every day? Do they have to ask the same question every day?

I can’t even sort these by level of annoyance, because they ALL kill me.

What are we doing tonight?

They barely get their legs all the way in the car after school and they throw this one out. The introvert in me wants to scream, “You’ve been DOING stuff all day! Why in the world don’t you just want to go home and sit on the couch?!” They’re kind of scared to ask at this point, but it still doesn’t stop them.

“Mommy…” They squirm for a bit, while I say, “What? WHAT?!” repeatedly, waiting for the conversation to go somewhere.

“Gahhhh!” is normally how I reply. So they try texting Daddy, hoping he’s more easy to wear down.

What’s for dinner?

I hate this one for two reasons.

First, most of my recipe names mean nothing to them. If I say “Ropa Viaja,” or “Southwest Turkey Sliders,” they don’t even know what I’m talking about. So it’s a pointless question, leaving them with no more information than when they started. Typically I just say, “Meat in sauce with some salad.” And they say, “UGHHGGHHGH.”

Which leads to my second complaint about this question. It’s basically an excuse to fuss about how much they will hate dinner. And since they don’t know what “Carnitas” is, they’re just ASSUMING they’ll hate it. I find it demoralizing. Like, you just assume my food will be bad?

Why are you cleaning? Is someone coming over?

I know I’m not the best housekeeper ever. But is it really that bad? Sometimes I just sweep because there is dust and puppy fur in all of the corners. You don’t have to get ugly about it.

But really, this is more of a painful truth kind of question, because usually someone is coming over. I just work better under pressure, OK? I probably would have done some cleaning, guests or no guests. It’s just happening a lot faster because I only have 2 hours until someone knocks on the door.

I know they’re not going to stop asking, so maybe I need some pre-printed cards with answers to these questions:

I don’t generally make New Year’s resolutions, because self-discipline isn’t my strong point. So why set myself up for failure, you know?

Really, I don’t remember resolving to do ANYTHING in 2014.

But still…

We completely changed our diet to a mix of Paleo/primal/low carb. Which means we cut out most grains and processed sugars, and as much processed food as possible (except last month, because CHRISTMAS FOOD). We’ve never felt better, so it’s worth it!

I dyed my hair for the first time. Not voluntarily. The grays forced me. It basically looks exactly the same, but requires more maintenance now. Yay.

I started putting cream in my coffee. And then someone told me to use heavy whipping cream. Guys. I have no words.

I started talking about racism, for better or for worse. But the small measure of talking I’ve done is far outweighed by the amount of learning I’ve undergone and continue to press into. It’s a fascinating, sorrowful issue that has gripped my very core.

And not one of those things is going away. We will continue to eat paleo/primal. I have to keep dying my hair, because the gray is only going to grow stronger. Cream is my favorite ever. Babies are for life. And racism is still alive and well.

I couldn’t have seen any of this coming (except the hair dye) when 2014 started. I couldn’t have resolved any of this (except to maybe eat healthier). The truly important parts of my year, the parts that change me the most, were completely out of my control.

So for 2015, there are no resolutions. But there is more faith.

Because 2014 grew my confidence:

In a God who knows I’m made of dust.

In a Savior who has experienced what it’s like to be human.

In a Jesus who guides, even when I can’t see what He’s up to.

My own self-discipline will only take me so far (not very). But trusting Jesus seems to lead my feet to places beyond my own simple expectations. If I try to guess, I’ll probably get it wrong. So I’m just going to rest in faith that He has a path already mapped out.

If you’re wise and have protected your brain from the Disney Channel, I’ll explain: Jessie is the nanny for a multiracial family (you can see what sucked us in!) with a bunch of kids. Their home seems pretty chaotic, with over-the-top antics and ridiculous dilemmas every show.

As we watched, I realized something. To us, their family feels pretty crazy, with kids everywhere. They have four kids.

WE HAVE FOUR KIDS.

I pointed this out to the rest of my four-kid-family and everyone kind of paused in shock for a second. Because we saw them as this huge, chaotic family and we saw us as… OK, it can be pretty crazy around here too.

And I know we’re not the Duggars or anything. In fact, we’re small compared to many families in our adoption community.

But a lot has changed in just over a year. Sometimes it feels like survival is the only goal. But it’s worth it. It’s so, so worth it.

These little people, who have brought all the extra work, have also brought the extra joy. They’ve changed our perspective on life. They’ve pulled new levels of compassion and servanthood out of all of us. Our family wouldn’t be us without them.

The other day, I overheard Isaiah talking to Phoebe. He was “teaching” her to pray:

“First you say, ‘Thank you God.’ Then you ask Jesus to help you. Or you ask Him to help someone else. Or you can just talk about your day. You can talk to Jesus about anything.”

In case it hasn’t been clear, we believe in adoption. In fact, I was trying to convince other people to adopt before I was ready to take the plunge myself. Sadly, for many, the biggest hold-up is that adoption is very expensive.

People always ask us why it costs so much to place a child in a forever family. The simple answer is there are a lot of people along the process who need to get paid so that their families can eat: social workers, lawyers, adoption agency employees, doctors, government workers. And sometimes birth-mom care expenses (Although, that is usually the smallest amount of anything).

We’re always happy to talk about it and try to explain the financial side in a way that makes some kind of sense, but I think the real question being asked is, “Is it worth the money?” To us, the answer is a resounding, “YES!”

So when we began the adoption process that brought us Phoebe, we dreamed of an adoption fundraising idea that would not only help us adopt, but could help other families do the same.

Out of that dream, Waiting Hearts Candle Co. was born. This is our own little baby candle company, making hand-poured soy candles that are cute and come in irresistible scents.

We aren’t talking about being a middle-man seller or some kind of pyramid scheme. This is OUR company. We make the candles in our home, so you know they’re made with love. And everything, minus the actual candle ingredient cost, goes directly to fund adoption.

We’ve been testing out our candles on our close friends and everyone loves them. So now we want to offer them to you!

We’re currently featuring fall scents and I’m going to tell you, my favorites are the Spicy Pomegranate and the Caffeinated Pumpkin (which pretty much smells like a coffee shop in autumn). But there are lots more to choose from that would go perfect with your Thanksgiving festivities. To shop our store, go here!

Also, if you’d like to help support adoption, we’d love your help in selling our candles. If you’re interested, please let us know! Especially if you have a business where we could place a small display of candles.

I’m not going to lie, we’re really excited about this venture. Not only do we get to craft some delicious smelling candles that we’re really proud of, but it’s going to fund adoptions. All we do is win!

I don’t like it when people help me. It’s painful! Or at least vulnerable.

For one thing, I don’t want to put anyone out. When I had pneumonia, a friend offered to come get my kids for the day. And I almost said, “No, I’ll be fine,” because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. I had freakin’ pneumonia, people! And I was still trying to not be a bother.

But I think, even more than that, my introvert side is hesitant to allow people free access to my Personal Zone. Because sometimes my Personal Zone (i.e. my bathroom) is kind of messy.

When Phoebe came along, friends started to offer help. By default, I was ready to brush them aside with, “Thanks, but I think we’re OK.” Chris, who knows I do this, convinced me that I needed to let people help me.

One of his persuasion tactics was asking a friend to pick the kids up for school for the first two weeks after he went back to work. He told me the plan once it was all settled. So I decided to throw caution to the wind and jump headfirst into being helped.

I mean, I’m still not OK with people dropping by the house unannounced (I might have a mild panic attack… or more likely, just not answer the door). But when people offer help, I’m learning to accept.

In the past few weeks, friends watched my kids so I could run errands. They brought food. Someone even came over and dyed my (unwashed) hair. And most of the time, I hadn’t had a shower, my sink was full of dishes, and I hadn’t cleaned the bathroom in a week.

Because, apparently there are people who love me enough to not mind that I have no makeup on and can’t remember the last time I swept my floors. They don’t care if my table is covered with stacks of papers that my husband considers a filing system. Or if all of our laundry is unfolded and my house smells like poopy diapers.

And I think I feel OK with allowing people like that into my messy chaos once in awhile. At least more OK than I would have been a couple of years ago.

Maybe this means I’ve gotten over myself just a little bit more. Maybe I’m becoming a healthier person. Or maybe I’m just too tired to care.

Awhile back, I told you all about how we never meant to be weird-baby-name parents. But we inadvertently are, because no one can pronounce Enoch.

Well.

When our newest daughter showed up, we kept it cool. We picked a Bible name that has thoroughly infiltrated society. Phoebe.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a complete episode of Friends, but even I know Phoebe is a character on the show. And there’s a girl on The Magic School Bus named Phoebe too. I mean, how much more cultural reference do people who lived through the 90’s need?

So I was feeling pretty confident that Phoebe’s name would be user friendly.

Until we got a text from a family member (who will remain anonymous) asking if it was pronounced “Fee-bee” or “Foo-bee.”

FOO-BEE. Who would name their kid “Foo-bee”? Do we seem like those kind of people?

But it gets worse. At the hospital, a nurse asked me Phoebe’s name, which I told her and then spelled (because I’m fully aware that part is tough). Not two minutes later, she looked down at her sheet and called my daughter “Foe-bee.” Seriously, I just pronounced it for you. You have no excuse.

So, just to nip any confusion in the bud, my daughter’s name is pronounced “FEE-BEE.”

Phoebe sleeps and sleeps and somehow is still way more DRAMA than Enoch ever dreamed of being. Like, if you pick her up too quickly, she cries. Silly girl.

And Enoch has just flipped the switch from baby to toddler or something. He’s not technically toddling yet, but he’s crawling very fast to get into EVERYTHING.

And then I hurt my toe. It’s really not serious… kind of a massive stubbed toe, that may or may not lose its toenail. But when you’re sleep deprived and the bigger baby is trying to chew on computer cords and the tiny baby just puked down your shirt, a stubbed toe is just too much.

So between all that excitement and spending copious amounts of time holding Phoebe, we haven’t had a chance to give you guys an update on our adoption fundraising.

A couple really exciting things have happened!

First: In a week’s time, you guys have given about $5,000. That’s amazing! We are so grateful!

Second: We received an interest free adoption loan that allowed us to pay the agency their fees. This is a big blessing!

You can help us pay back this adoption loan by giving here. As we return the funds, the money goes directly to finance other families’ adoptions. So your donations are the gift that keeps giving to adoption!

Remember, every donation of $15 or more will receive a tiny little baby, hand-painted by me! (For those of you who’ve already given, yours will be coming shortly, as soon as we are awake enough to remember where the Post Office is!)

Pretty soon we’ll be sharing some exciting fundraising stuff that will brighten your autumn and might even help you out with your Christmas shopping! So stay tuned.